


A Little Less Love, And A Little More Common Decency

by Kkaepsongiya



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, One-Sided Isaac Lahey/Stiles Stilinski, Prompt Fill, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:49:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3263918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kkaepsongiya/pseuds/Kkaepsongiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TW Meme Prompt: College AU. Male character (Isaac ?) wakes up in the middle of the night to find his roommate (Stiles)being pounded /fucked by his boyfriend (Derek) . He is bi curious and the scene is so hot he ends up jerking off . He meets Stiles's sly smile and smiles back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Less Love, And A Little More Common Decency

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently on a lunch break for this 5-hour driving course I'm taking and I just...anyway, I don't usually fill prompts not directly given to me but [this one](http://tnw-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/4905.html?thread=937001#t937001) was good so I went for it (I have a list of like 20 that I think are good). I'm bored but I wanna get my license so I have to do this...*sigh* #FirstWorldProblems  
> Title insipred by Kurt Vonnegut's novel Slapstick (or Lonesome No More!)

It wasn’t that Isaac didn’t like Stiles—that was _definitely_ not the problem—it was just...Isaac felt weird around Stiles. When the boy had first walked into the dorm, he had dropped all of his stuff by the door, kicked off his shoes, and crowded into Isaac’s personal space. As somebody who had never had touchy-feely friends, Isaac could not get comfortable around this weird-new-lanky-molely-touchy-touchy-talker kid—and the kid just _wouldn’t leave Isaac alone_. If he didn’t know better, Isaac would think that Stiles had a crush on him.

The first time the thought had occurred to him was a week or two after Stiles had moved into their shared dorm. Isaac had been up since the early hours of the morning, as usual, staying quiet as to not disturb the half-dead-but-really-just-deeply-sleeping boy in the bed across from his. He sat in the kitchen, hands nursing a warm mug of coffee on the table in front of him, his mind wandering until his attention was pulled back to reality. Stiles, moving (read: stumbling) through the door and into the kitchen, made his way straight to Isaac, pulling the mug from the older boy’s hands and, with a grace much unlike his walking, downed the rest of the coffee in the cup. Isaac’s blue eyes followed the long plane of Stiles’ pale neck, the bobbing of his adam’s apple as he swallowed. Setting the glass down, Stiles stared off into space for a moment before leaning over a pecking Isaac’s cheek, mumbling a small “thanks” before stalking out of the room. Isaac watched him leave, dumbstruck. 

* * *

 

The second time was only a few days after the Coffee Incident (as Isaac liked to call it in his mind). Unlike Stiles (who seemed to never study), Isaac frequented the school’s library, sometimes for hours at a time. This happened to be one of those times, and after hours upon hours of trying to figure out the point of imaginary numbers (and trying not to brain himself with one of his textbooks), all Isaac wanted to do was shower, eat, and sleep. That _was_ his plan up until he walked into his dorm. Stiles was on his hands and knees on the floor, messing around with the buttons on the cable box. Isaac felt his mouth dry as his eyes followed the bare length of Stiles’ legs to his boxer-clad ass to his torso, swallowed in... _one of Isaac’s sweatshirts_. The boy hadn’t even noticed Isaac’s arrival so Isaac cleared his throat, just-barely cracking a smile at the way Stiles jumped in response. He turned his head, his hair disheveled (as per usual) as if he had just woken up, and offered a sheepish smile.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he started, tugging on the sleeves of the sweater until they covered most of his fingers, “I took a shower and I was looking for some clothes to wear and I saw your sweater just laying there and it smelt really good—where do you buy your cologne, by the way?—and I just threw it on—” and he just rambled on and on. Isaac couldn’t help but look at the boy’s lips and the way he randomly licked them between his words. He was so busy imagining those lips pressed against his (and maybe some other places) that he barely registered that they had stopped moving. Stiles had asked him a question and he was now waiting for an answer. Isaac habitually tugged on some of his curls before mumbling a hesitant “yes?” and praying that it was an appropriate answer (and that he hadn't just agreed to be a human sacrifice or something creepy of that nature). Stiles just laughed and tugged on Isaac’s arm, pulling the curly-haired boy onto the worn couch and cuddling into his side. Stiles fell asleep not too long after and Isaac wormed his way out of the other’s hold and rushed to the bathroom.

He came in the shower to images of Stiles on his knees, the boy wearing his sweater, his lips wrapped around Isaac’s cock. 

* * *

 

From this point on, Isaac tried to avoid Stiles—he really did—but they shared a room and the kid was _everywhere_. The incidents continued and it lead to more shower masturbation for Isaac and more confusion for him as well. He had never felt this way around another guy before and he didn’t know how to handle it. _Was it even normal?_ He remembered staring at girl’s in high school and fantasizing about sex with Erica Reyes, the hottest girl in school. He remembered watching a boy get beat up, poor little Matt Daehler, for staring at a boy in the locker room for a bit too long. The kids at his high school were so cruel, throwing Matt into the school’s pool and laughing as the boy flailed and called for help. After that incident, Isaac made it a point to not look at guys.

That obviously turned out well because here he is, years later, fantasizing about fucking his college roommate. He couldn’t tell if what he had was solely a physical attraction but what he did know was that he wanted Stiles in his bed (and if the past few weeks were anything to go by, Stiles wanted into his bed as well). It was all so new to him, liking boys (well, at least, thinking that boys were hot—or maybe it was just Stiles—Isaac didn’t know) and so didn’t exactly know how to go about acting upon his feelings. It was probably the same as it was with girls (though, Isaac didn’t have any experience in that field either). In his head, it couldn’t be _too_ hard to bed Stiles: the boy already seemed pretty willing.

It didn’t exactly go the way Isaac planned.

Get to the dorm, confront Stiles, fuck. That was the plan—at least, it _was_ until Isaac got to the dorm. And opened the door. And saw Stiles in some guy’s lap. At the sound of the door opening and closing, Stiles pulled away from where his lips were locked with the mystery man’s, turning his head to smile at Isaac.

“Isaac!” he called, not catching the flash of hurt and betrayal and confusion in Isaac’s eyes, “I’m glad you’re finally home! Come meet my boyfriend Derek.” Isaac didn’t say anything, his tongue thick in his mouth as his eyes took in the scene in front of him. “Derek” had one of his hands under Stiles’ shirt, the other gripping the boy’s ass through his jeans. His lips were pressed against Stiles’ collarbone as he peered over the boy’s shoulder, his dark eyes meeting Isaac’s, grunting as a greeting. Isaac could barely hear his own response over the sound of blood pounding in his ears. He excused himself to the bedroom and sat on the bed. Through the closed door, he could hear Stiles giggling with a sprinkling of moans from him and grunts from Derek. Isaac just laid in bed and covered his ears, eventually falling asleep.

* * *

 

When Isaac next opened his eyes, it was dark outside. The clock on Stiles’ bedside table caught his eye, the numbers reading 2:37 in blaring red. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, his eyes moving from the clock and focusing on Stiles’ bed. His eyes widened as they took in flashes of pale skin as Stiles and Derek rolled, Stiles settling on top of Derek, rocking his hips against Derek as the man gripped his hips, thrusting up into Stiles. Isaac followed the length of Stiles’ bare body, the boy’s head tipped back, his nipples as hard as his cock. Stiles’ hips stuttered as Derek jerked his hips, and even though the room was only lit by the light of the moon shining through the window, Isaac could tell that Stiles was biting his lip to keep from moaning too loud.

Isaac could feel himself harden and for once he was glad that he had decided to wear sweatpants that day instead of jeans. He couldn't stop himself from reach into his pants and pressing the heel of his hand against his aching hardness. His breathing stuttered as he watched Derek flip Stiles onto his back, the bigger man snapping his hips forward to meet Stiles'. The boy had his mouth parted as he breathed hard, his hands scrambling to find a piece of Derek to grab—to ground him. Derek was devouring him, his mouth meeting Stiles’ chest, kissing, licking, and sucking on anything he came into contact with—pale skin or perky nipples. Stiles’ back arched and his head swayed from side to side, his fingers gripping Derek’s biceps almost as hard a it seemed Derek was gripping his hips. Isaac imagined seeing the bruises in the morning when Stiles stretched, lifting his hands above his head, his shirt rising as he yawned.

Now Isaac was gripping his cock, his hand pushing past the fabric of his boxers to grip the rigid flesh firmly, stroking upwards and rubbing his thumb over the weeping tip. His fingers twitched reflexively as a low whine left Stiles’ mouth, Derek angling his thrusts to hit Stiles’ spot head on. Isaac barely registered his own hand speeding up, his eyes too focused on Stiles’ blissed-out face, the moon reflecting off of his pale skin. Stiles eyes were the colour of whiskey and Isaac could tell that they were lust-filled, even in the dark.

_Stiles’ eyes were the colour of whiskey._

Isaac could _see_ Stiles’ eyes. Because Stiles was looking directly at him. In his own lust-induced haze, Isaac hadn’t registered the fact that Stiles was looking right back at him, and though his blanket was covering him, Isaac was sure that Stiles could tell what he was doing. Now that their eyes had met, Stiles stopped holding back his expressions, the boy putting on a show for the curly-haired boy one bed over. Stiles bit his lip and tilted his head and arched his back and pleaded with Derek, begging him to go _harder—move faster_. Derek complied, ramming into his boyfriend, in, out, in, out.

Isaac's hand sped up, stroking himself in time with Derek's thrusts. Isaac could see the contractions of Stiles' stomach as the boy finally came, a moan tearing from his mouth, him making no attempt to cover it up. Derek came not too long after, Isaac just barely seeing the man's hips stutter as he focused on his own finish, strands of cum dirtying the inside of his pants and the tips of his fingers. He bit his lip hard, drawing blood as he tried to stifle his moan, trying not to breathe so hard as he watched Derek ride out his orgasm, Stiles running his hands through his hair and kissing Derek's lips.

Isaac didn't know how to feel—he couldn't even tell if this was _real_. The stickiness in his boxers felt real and the smoldering looks that Stiles had given him felt real but he didn't know. Isaac blinked slowly. Once. Twice. Each time, using a bit more energy to open them back up until eventually he closed his eyes, seeing a smile given in his direction before finally dozing off.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, find me on tumblr [here](http://www.isaaclecter.tumblr.com) for requests or to just talk~ I accept prompts and questions (and praise *shot*) Hope you guys liked this train wreck~


End file.
